


Pet

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-17
Updated: 2004-01-17
Packaged: 2018-11-20 17:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11339736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: someone is being claimed.





	Pet

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Pet

### Pet

#### by Nicholas

  


Title: Pet  
Author: Nicholas 

E-Mail: 

Pairing: M/K  
Rating: NC-17  
Category: BDSM, PWP 

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Alex Krycek, Walter Skinner and all the other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. 

Notes: Beta'd by Gaby, the mistakes left are mine alone. 

\-- 

He comes home. The door opens slowly, very slowly and he seems to sense that something is off. He turns on the light, the gun already drawn, and moves into the room with this special grace he has, the eyes wary, the expensive Armani suit crumpled from his latest adventure, the dust from Idaho's desert still clinging to him. He looks tired, weary, but alert enough to keep his gun straight. His first cursory glance reveals nothing. Then he concentrates on the details and becomes aware of the handcuffs gleaming enticingly on the table, beckoning him to move closer. He relaxes a fraction until he realizes he isn't supposed to give in without a fight because he never does. Such an open book. It's entertaining to watch the play of emotions across his features - the shock, the arousal, the frustration and the cold mask of indifference, set to be broken again as he is to be freed. 

"Krycek," he calls out, the gun still pointing in all directions as the young man, clad in black, emerges from the kitchen. A glass with a liquid, most probably vodka, is firmly in his grip, a smug sneer, half grin decorates his face. His lips are thin, but the flicker in his eyes talks of an apparent enjoyment lying ahead. 

He lifts the glass in greeting. "Cheers," he says with a badly faked British accent and he smiles a lazy smile that makes young Fox advance on him, the barrel of the gun finally touching Alexei's well-muscled chest dead on, Fox could kill him now. Alexei's eyes assess the situation, judgement already passed. He grips Fox's weapon with his right hand, plucks it from him easily, secures it. His eyes never leaving Fox's, he drops it to the ground, kicks it over the floor where it slithers along the floorboard until it bangs against the wall with a clang of metal on stone. At the sound, Fox's eyes dart there and only slowly move back to Alexei's. 

"Fuck off, Krycek," Fox now says without much conviction, such a see-through act, a display Alexei only registers with a disapproving shake of his head. 

"Insolence, Fox," he replies sweetly, setting the glass down onto the low coffee table right next to him. "Why do you always need these displays of attitude? You surrender so sweetly eventually, why these stubborn child-like antics when it is truly what you desire?" The fingers of his right hand draw a caress onto Fox's cheeks until the spiteful, willful creature reacts with an attempted boxing move only to have his hand stopped in a squeezing grip of Alexei's left. Alexei swiftly uses the chance to turn Fox around and lay him flat on the table's surface face down, the handcuffs soon decorating Fox's wrists, the light breaking in the shiny metal. 

Fox is a bundle of constant movement, never still, but panting, twisting, fighting against the restraints, knocking over the glass, liquid spilt and eventually he ends on the floor. Alexei uses the chance to put a spreader bar between his feet and Fox exhausts himself, writhes on the ground, fights against the restraints, against Alexei's caresses on his face, his touches on his body, the ruffling of his hair, his combing through sweat-soaked strands. 

Alexei appears clearly amused by Fox antics, the fight, the sweet way of surrender. The end result will be more than merely sweet but the attraction Alexei sees in that caged animal writhing for him is obvious through the change in breathing, the change in movement, the adjustment of the bulge in his pants as his other hand is stroking along the suit-clad back and legs of his plaything, the untamed pet that purrs so sweetly once he is in firm hands. And firm those hands are, kneading the cramping muscles that will be sore tomorrow. 

"Give in," he whispers, his lips half an inch from Fox's ear, heightening his thrashing once more with these words until the quiet mewling sounds announce a change in pace. The conflict apparent now, resisting the urge to submit, always resisting with all he has until the caress is too soft, too pleasant to be hated. Until he is too needy to keep up the resistance, too desperate to reject the contacts, too starved for affection, love, attention. So he has no choice, hasn't had one from the start. The only way is to submit, and he knew that from the minute his eyes discovered the handcuffs on the table, aware of the implication even then. The fight, not a game, never a game for him but survival instinct taking over, the need to remain strong, to remain in control of everything, to never allow anyone else to take over for him. The fight is fruitless, Alexei too skilled a master in this area of life, too much expertise for a novice such as Fox, and so he has to give up. 

The will to fight leaves him and the beautiful surrender brings a gentle smile to Alexei's face, a caress to Fox's hair and sweat-drenched face, cooing words of praise and endearment whispered into his ear. The last lines on Fox's face, the last shreds of fight, a flickering wild thrash as the last hope withers away and then he calms down, completely still. The cramped muscles relax fraction by fraction until the figure on the ground is completely languid, silent, no eye contact with Alexei, his shame preventing anything other than the physical surrender for a moment. 

Alexei's fingers touch his pet's face, his chin. He grips it and turns it to establish eye contact, to establish the dynamics. The never-changing, unwavering, never-relenting power of Alexei's eyes only slowly sinks in. The expression in these eyes doesn't change, they don't harden, don't soften and Fox obviously recognizes what he finds in them as he slumps further. He recognizes it as what it is as he capitulates, his eyes lowered once more, in submission. And Alex lets him go. 

"Kneel," his voice cuts through the room, startling the man on the floor to a stunned, fearful expression, to alertness. Alexei's eyebrows are rising and Fox reacts with frantic movements, tries to force his body into a kneeling position, exerting his muscles to the greatest again, alert eyes always on the one giving the commands, careful for any sign of displeasure that might be seen. Alexei patiently waits for his pet to follow his commands. The struggle to his knees takes the last will and strength to fight out of Fox, his legs shaking from exhaustion once he has managed them into the required position. 

"Good boy," Alexei whispers into his ear now and donates a soft kiss onto his lips. It makes Fox cringe and blush - embarrassment again? He turns his head to the side, avoiding to look at the man, not quite prepared for the praise. The hand on his chin quickly redirects the attention. 

"Accept it, boy," Alexei clarifies, receiving a nodded reply which he comments by raising his eyebrows. 

"Yes, Sir," Fox corrects himself softly, the eyes shyly on the man holding him captive. The man who is once more mapping his face with his hands, along the ears, the hair, down the neck, making the kneeling man shiver visibly. 

"Let's undress you," Alexei decides which earns him an expression that is attempting indifference but barely manages to conceal the interest, the arousal that makes his cock tent the suit pants he is wearing. 

"The cuffs are unfortunate now," Alexei muses as his hands are already loosening the tie with a few quick pulls. He lets it drop to the side. The shirt is next, with the jacket already open, the buttons easily pop free. The moving fingers explore every square inch, caress, scratch, pinch, and Fox's eyes are closing. A moan, half a purr rises from his throat to echo heartfelt in the open room, and a smile of appreciation plays over Alexei's lips. He pulls the shirt free from the pants. The light movement causes air to peak Fox's nipples into little nubs which immediately catches Alexei's interest. He pinches them, softly at first, then increasing pressure, a careful, controlling glance on Fox's reactions who appears to want to be from and with the continuing ministrations. The growl rising in his throat is wrestled to submissive acceptance, obviously satisfaction, with the caresses. Alexei moves on, pulling both the jacket and shirt over Fox's shoulder and arms, down to the bound wrists where the clothes are left hanging, held by the cuffs. 

"Proudly," he admonishes Fox's slumped position who immediately kneels, displaying his albeit moderately muscled chest, consequently also pushing his basket outwards. Alexei's eyes focus on that. He caresses the contours of Fox's cock through the protecting cover once, from base to head, apparently ignoring Fox's whimpers but luxuriating in them. With a well-aimed grip his hand closes around Fox's balls, creating a slightly pain-filled sound in his captive's throat. Once more Alexei doesn't move his hand until the full submission, the full acceptance of his actions is reached. He then lets go and swiftly unbuckles Fox's belt, pulls the zipper down and watches how the pants drift to the ground, only to be stopped by Fox's raging hard-on, and finally they pool around Fox's knees with a little help. 

"No underwear," Alexei remarks, mock-astonished, causing a helpless blush on Fox's face again, then he steps back, observing the image of a wet dream come true: the thighs, trembling from the exertion of the kneeling position and the excitement that must be coursing through his veins freely. Alexei goes down on one knee and although kneeling he still represents a picture of domination. He puts his lips to Fox's, plundering his mouth. His tongue darts out to map the lips first, then to explore the mouth's interior intimately, leaving Fox not much of a chance but to cooperate, to respond to the kiss that's ravishing his mouth with brutal intensity. 

The hand behind his head keeps their lips glued together and leaves no other way but to enjoy the sensation created by the rich mouth on his. Fox's lips are still moving when Alexei has already pulled away. His face is now an attractive mix of wanton, need and heady arousal, mixed, still mixed with a remaining bit of stubbornness and spitefulness which both diminish by the second. With every touch that aims to pleasure the willing body the resistance weakens. 

Another hair ruffle and Fox's attention is focussed again. Alexei forces his hands to drop noticeably slow from Fox's hair and he places them on his own thighs, thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants, his palms framing his crotch, further pronouncing the bulge that leaves Fox's mouth hanging open, the figurative spittle dripping to the ground. 

Fox knee-walks closer to the treasure, an awkward inch-by-inch movement that is halted by Alexei's hand making a 'stop'-motion. Fox stills, eyes still glued to his prize as Alexei unzips his leather-pants, reaches into his boxer-shorts and moves his cock and balls into the open, supported by his shorts' waistband. A few tugs as he watches Fox's hungry gaze through slitted eyes. Then he steps closer to his pet and allows him to gently mouth his equipment, slathering it up and down with saliva, the spittle mixing with precum and running down Fox's chin, dripping onto his chest from there, creating a sticky trail which doesn't appear to faze Fox in the slightest. He enthusiastically continues to lick the prize offered to him, knowing he has to wait for the one command. 

"You may," Alexei gives in, barely hanging on to control, but experienced enough to keep his posture intact. The 'go'-command makes Fox swallow the piece of meat bit by bit, obviously enjoying the feel of it in his mouth and on his tongue as he allows it to glide over it repeatedly. His eyes are closed in bliss, his posture relaxed, trusting Alexei not to step back and leave him off-balance with his wrists cuffed behind him. 

Alexei's hands move back to grip Fox's head and he pumps himself leisurely in and out, savoring the feel of the lips on his cock, blissing out in the hot wet cavern of Fox's mouth, the sensual stroking of the tongue along his sensitized skin. Alexei's mouth hangs open. His face creases as the tension, the need for completion becomes stronger, more prominent a thought. Getting off, spurting into Fox's mouth, the desire at seeing Fox's face rapt by the possibility to be granted the pleasure of tasting his cum - it gets to him. 

Fox stares at Alexei wide-eyed, drinking in the man towering over him, drinking in the way his hands feel guiding him in an out. Alexei's eyes fall close, a groan travels from his throat and his seed spills into Fox's mouth who fights to keep up with the flow of hot liquid cascading down his throat. He swallows quickly, his Adam's apple bopping with every muscle movement of his throat. The squeezed eyes from the first contact of cum and tongue soon give way to pure arousal and adoration and gratefulness. 

Alexei pulls away from Fox's lips gently, steadying him with a hand to his shoulder when the intensity on his sensitized cock is too much to bear. 

"Thank you, Fox." 

Fox looks up, surprised by the deadly sarcasm, paired with honest thanks and implied praise, in the voice. He ducks his head again, decides for submissive and awaits further instructions. 

Alexei's head is cocked to the side, in apparent mock-thought, with his fingers tapping his cheek and his eyes wandering off to look for an answer in the stars. "Well, I have an idea. Let's get you onto the table," he finally explains jovially, chuckling at Fox's uncomprehending face. "Seeing you already took care of everything that's been on it with your previous little fighting interlude, we have a nice clean surface for our next adventure, don't you think? So do get on the table...or else.." 

He leaves the threat hanging in the air. 

"How do you want me, ...Sir?" Fox asks, clearly stumbling over the words and their implication, although his cock gives a lurch at the sound of them. 

"Interesting," Alexei comments dryly, giving the erection a tap, "well, on your back, I think. Then I have all the good parts to play with." 

"Yes, Sir," Fox whispers with a dry throat as he knee-walks to the table and brings himself to stand after an exhausting struggle with the spreader bar. Then he carefully sits on the table first, testing for weight. "My arms, Sir?" he asks unsurely, gesturing helplessly with his head that his current bondage makes the requested position barely possible. 

Without saying a word Alexei loosens the cuffs, the tension in his upper body betrays the image of languid calmness he wants it to portray. Fox merely drops the now freed clothes to the floor and tentatively lies down flat, painfully aware of his nakedness and the open display he is presenting. His breath flows with shuttering gasps from his body while his eyes are dancing along the ceiling before they close in silent defeat. 

Alexei takes his time to take in the shivering body laid out for him, to caress the glowing skin, to allow his hand to travel freely. His hand, although enjoying all of the body, always comes back to play with Fox's proud cock. Alexei's ears pick up on the strained sounds Fox makes in reaction to the sensations created on his body. He squirms in the non-existent bondage, only to be stilled by a slap to his thigh that causes his eyes to snap open - near defiance that Alexei counters with raised eyebrows once more, continuing his exploration nevertheless. 

With a last appreciative glance Alexei leaves Fox on the table as he disappears in the kitchen, leaving Fox in obvious confusion. Just as the submissive boy wins some of his fight back, just as he is on the verge of getting up, his muscles tensing, just as he is getting ready to jump and run, the chance is lost. 

"Tsk, tsk," Alexei says from the doorway, no doubt recognizing the signs of impending action. "You better lie back down right now before the consequences for what you were just about to do become more than only a kind threat." 

Fox forces his shoulders back onto the table, closes his eyes and gulps audibly. 

"Look what I have brought here for you," Alexei continues, losing himself in the moment and at the same time, finding himself in this project of his. 

Fox glances at the bonds, a heavy steel and leather combination that won't leave him any chance to free himself. Another gulp that elicits a smirk from Alexei, "Say, 'Thank you, Alex, you are so nice to me'." 

With a slight shake of his head, not waiting for an answer, Alexei begins to fasten the bonds to Fox's wrists and ankles and the respective table legs, strapping Fox in effectively before he removes the spreader bar. He allows Fox to struggle, to no more than mock-fight the imprisonment before another slap to Fox's thigh diverts his attention from his predicament. 

"Look what else we have here," Alexei continues his explanations while he lays out a candle that he immediately lights, ice cubes in a dish, a butt plug and a slip. Fox's eyes move along the row of toys, almost lightening up at the sight of the candle and the ice cubes, only to have him blanch and close his eyes in a weak struggle upon recognizing the last of the objects. The garment is well-known and well-worn. 

"Let's get started then. I hope everything is to your satisfaction," Alexei remarks with another smirk. "I suppose I'll find the lube in its usual place?" he asks non-chalantly, already opening one of the drawers. His eyes never leave his pet's body as he is squirting a generous amount of lube onto the butt plug and advances on Fox. Stopping dead he shakes his head dramatically. "Now why did you make me tie you before I was prepared? Why didn't you say something?" he admonishes snidely, setting the plug down with a plop-and-squish sound onto Fox's stomach before he proceeds to untie his pet's legs with a sigh. 

There is no resistance in Fox's eyes, they only widen at the familiar, yet foreign feeling of the plug finally plopping into place in his ass. His sphincter muscle is flexing around the intruder, making it dance wildly as his eyes take on an almost bewildered expression. 

"And now, what do we have here?" Alexei asks, dangling the almost see-through, once-white slip from his index finger. The slip's structured material shows flowers, the frilly decorations look well-stretched. Alexei's eyebrows rise questioningly. He wants an answer. 

"It's...I...please, Sir," Fox stammers embarrassed, yet drawn to the piece of clothing with his eyes. 

Alexei draws the slip over Fox's upper body, the smirk becomes a notch sharper while he is twirling the flimsy material around Fox's nipples, still waiting. 

"It's a slip, Sir," Fox presses out with a rush of air, his voice shaky. 

"And whose slip would it be, boy?" Alexei continues to inquire, his eyes fixed on the garment's journey over his captive's body. 

Fox gulps, pleads with his eyes and finds cold indifference. "It's my slip, Sir," he gives in barely audible. 

"Your slip?" Alexei's voice booms in the silent room, smiling at Fox's miserable nod. "And why would you happen to own a piece of _female_ clothing?" Alexei ends, his tone heightening the quiet, menacing atmosphere as his hand with the slip encloses Fox's engorged cock. 

"You gave it to me for my birthday last year. You told me I had to wear it every time you'd come to see me. That you would dress me in it. To show me what sort of cheap slut I am to you," Fox replies desperately, a few tears squeezing from both his eyes and his cock. 

"Isn't that right...a birthday present for my slut-boy and you better just honor me by wearing it." 

With a few decisive movements Alexei pushes the slip up Fox's legs until it rests snugly on his hips, encasing the cock and balls in a satiny prison that they appear to burst out of any minute. A picture of pure decadence. Alexei claps his hands a few times with a slow, tense sound that rings out loud in the otherwise silent room. Praise and flowers for this picture of aroused misery. He pets the bulge with a grin. "All mine," he comments confidently. 

Unseen by Fox he grabs one of the ice cubes from the table, making sure they are already dripping a bit of water. He holds the cube between thumb and index finger and presses it to the tip of Fox's cock, which is only protected by the thin slip, without a warning. No built-up, no foreplay, dead on. Fox jumps in his bondage, his mouth opens on a scream that remains soundless. Alexei makes no move to remove the ice cube from its current position but rather makes sure it keeps the contact all through Fox's squirming and struggling to escape the freezing sensation that soon enough numbs the skin. 

With the ice cube melted away by Fox's heat, Alexei observes the panting object for a second before a wicked grin spreads over his face. Another cube is transferred into one hand while the other one draws down the very wet slip far enough to pull out the plug. Fox's frantic babbles show that he already knows what is coming next. Without further ado Alexei pulls out the plug, pushes the ice cube inside and seals Fox's ass again. He moves the slip back into the correct position and watches Fox's agony with arousal. His hand is freely kneading his bulge which wins in importance with the sweat breaking out on Fox's skin, with the fuck-movements he is involuntarily making, with the cock and balls that are visible through the thin and wet cloth of the slip. 

As Fox's movements quieten down Alexei pushes away from his position and watches his prey. His hand closes around the candle. Fox opens his eyes at the long silence and begins to shake as he discovers the flame and molten wax. "No, no," he mumbles almost incoherently. 

Always observing his eyes, Alexei tips the candle right above Fox's naked chest. His eyes never leave Fox's as the first drops of wax drip down. He is blindly painting figures on the almost hairless skin, his eyes trained solely on his pet's face. 

With the first sign of relaxation he lets the wax travel lower finally aiming exactly at the previously ice cube-tortured cock head. He watches with fascination how Fox's eyes first widen in horror then in need, as the fuck movements increase. Eventually the eyes loll back into his head as his cock erupts into the wet and waxed slip. 

Alexei sets the candle down. Then he reaches into his pants and with a few pulls, the eyes on his art exhibit, he brings himself off all over Fox's body, adding a few puddles of cum to the wax and remaining water. 

He tucks himself back inside moments after the fountain has stopped spewing, observes the perfect picture for another second before he collects the dish with the now melted ice cubes and the candle to carry them back into the kitchen. Certain that he left no evidence except for Fox himself he loosens the restraints, then takes a piece of paper from Fox's printer and puts a few words down. Another check that Fox is still breathing and he walks to the door. Turning slightly to the left and looking straight into the camera, he comes closer, pinning the piece of paper to it, disallowing any further view at the unconscious man and his predator. 

I chuckle at the message, smoke flowing from my lungs, just as I hear him leaving the apartment. The words are in neat handwriting, "Hands off, he is mine." 

Silly boy. 

~ The End ~   
  

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Nicholas


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